Intentions
by Miss Wonderfreak
Summary: He hadn't meant to, he never did. But the road to hell was paved with good intentions, and Hawkeye knew they had entered hell a long, long time ago. Quasi-RoyAi, post-CoS


A.N.: Oy vey. _Do not flame this__**. Do not flame this. **__**Do NOT flame this.**___Don't read this if you like RoyAi in CoS. Don't read this if you like Roy in CoS. Don't read this if you like Hawkeye in CoS. Personally, I think he'd a complete douche. People ask why I don't like the first anime- it's because, IMHO, this is what happens after it. I could babble some shit about how I feel every relationship has to have its darker side explored, but a) all the RoyAi fans would be like "wait, RoyAi has a _lighter_ side?" and b) that's not what this is, anyways. This is my analysis of Roy and Hawkeye's relationship in CoS. Don't get me wrong, I really, really, really love RoyAi in the manga, still on the fence about the newer anime. I'm a RoyAi fan, I swear! I just hate RoyAi in CoS.

_**Pleeeeeeease**_ don't flame this.

Disclaimer: I don't own FMA

Warnings: Angst, abuse

Intentions

She remembers the first time very clearly. It had been a long day in the office, and she'd hurried home quickly after work to feed Black Hayate. There had been a slurred message from him on her answering machine asking her to stop by his apartment, and she'd gone. He wouldn't answer the door, and so she had let herself in using the spare key he'd had made for her. It wasn't unusual for him not to answer the door, so she hadn't been particularly worried, but she began to be when she saw him. He was sitting in his living room, a bottle in his hand, and he just wouldn't stop shaking. She'd dropped her purse where she stood and rushed over to him. He'd looked up at her slowly, and it took him a minute to focus on her face, like he couldn't tell the difference between her and the furniture,

"Hawkeye?" He said slowly, stumbling over his words, and she'd sighed and nodded. She wished she didn't know what to do, because knowing meant that this had happened enough that they had a routine for it.

"Yes, it's me." She spoke softly but wouldn't look him in the eye, instead focusing her attention on prying the half-empty bottle from his chilly hands.

"What are you doing here?" He frowned up at her and she'd frowned down at him. So he didn't remember calling- that meant he was drunker than she'd thought.

"You called me." She told him, and his frown deepened into a glare.

"Why did I do that?!" He snapped.

"I don't know." She responded, picking up a throw off his couch and draping it around his shoulders.

"Why did you come?" He asked, shrugging off the blanket.

"Because you called me." She repeated slowly.

"But why did you come?" He asked harshly, his eyes glinting up at her. She was silent for a moment, and began picking up the empty bottles on the floor.

"Because I care." She sighed, and something had changed. He jumped to his feet, swaying slightly, and taken a step toward her.

"Why?" He spat, and she'd felt the tiniest flicker of concern. And he saw it, as he lurched toward her and she flinched. Looking back, it had been that flinch that was the last straw. She'd tried to hide it from him, but he saw it, and his eyes had darkened, and it had all happened so fast.

In a flash, he'd grabbed her wrists and slammed her into the wall behind her, her head colliding painfully with the plaster.

"Why?" He hissed in anguish, and she could smell the alcohol on him. "Why do I deserve it?"

She closed her eyes and fought tears, but he didn't stop talking.

"I'm a _murderer_, Hawkeye." He said hoarsely, and she could feel his breath across her cheek. "Why the _hell_ would I deserve your pity?!"

"It's not pity-" She'd started, and he'd cut her off with a hollow laugh, the laugh a dying man gives.

"Bullshit. Don't do this, Hawkeye. You deserve better." His voice had cracked on her name, and she finally opened her eyes to meet his gaze. His pupils were dilated and his breathing was shallow and fast, and she saw self-hatred in the corners of his mouth. He held her gaze for a heartbeat as a baby wailed on the floor below them.

Abruptly he smashed his mouth into hers, his teeth cutting her bottom lip, his tongue hot and wet and needy in her mouth. She froze for a second, because kisses like this could break her, and he pulled away and gave that same dead laugh. He threw her toward the door, his nails dragging bleeding welts across her arms.

"Don't come back." He'd said tonelessly, his eyes alight with pain. "Don't ever come back."

He'd found her at work the next day and apologized, sworn never to drink, promised he'd never touch again. And she trusted him, and he hadn't meant to, and she didn't really have a choice.

So she believed him.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

The next time, they'd been at an engagement party. Some mutual coworker of theirs had gotten engaged, a secretary whose first name neither of them knew. The woman's fiancée had been toasting her, something romantic and naive.

"To Charlotte," He said, raising his champagne glass. "I hope she knows I'll love her no matter what she does."

Everyone raised their glass to the bride-to-be, and instead of toasting Charlotte, Hawkeye caught Roy's eye and raised her glass to him. Hawkeye later thought to herself that she shouldn't have provoked him. It had been a stupid thing to do. It had been her fault, like it always was.

When they got back to her apartment that night, he didn't say a word, he just stood in the kitchen leaning against the counter with his head in his hands. She did the only thing she could think to do, she went up behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist, and he tensed.

"Don't." He snarled. "Don't you dare."

"But-" She'd tried to protest, and a shudder had run through him. He spun around and backhanded her across the face, hard enough to knock her into the refrigerator door. She hit her head against the handle and it sliced a bloody gash across her temple. She fell to her knees on the kitchen floor, blood dripping down her forehead and into her eyes. He took a step backward and she could see that he was trembling.

"Oh my God..." He whispered. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry-"

Repressed sobs ran shook his shoulders, and he had the eyes of a lost little boy. It hurt her to see him in so much pain, and he hadn't _meant_ to do it, so she reached up to him, grabbing onto his pant leg. He gave a strangled yelp and jerked his leg from her grasp, backing up further until he turned and fled. She heard her apartment door slam behind him and she began to retch. This was all her fault, she'd driven him away again.

The following day everyone had pretended not to notice the bandage on her forehead or the hand print across her cheek, and he'd handed her a letter begging her forgiveness and pledging her it would never happen again. It had really been her fault anyways, and he hadn't meant to hurt her, so of course she'd forgiven him.

There was nothing else she could do.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

It had been after the fourth time that Havoc had cornered her in a supply cabinet when she went to get more paper.

"Lieutenant..." He began nervously, scratching the back of his neck. "How... are you?"

She faked confusion.

"I'm fine, thank you, Havoc." She replied, reaching for the office supplies. He shifted anxiously, and she turned around to face him. He opened his mouth as if to say something, then closed it, and she brushed past him toward the door. Her hand was on the handle when his voice stopped her.

"Are you okay?" He asked hesitantly, and she paused.

"Of course." She answered, and he fidgeted.

"Lieutenant, um... Can I ask you something?" She rolled her eyes and gestured for him to continue. "How did you get that black eye?"

Her hand drifted up to her face to finger the bruise she'd gotten when Roy had unintentionally thrown a plate a her.

"I hit myself with a door." She replied stiffly, and Havoc nodded slowly.

"Alright." He said, biting his lip. "And why is your hand bandaged?"

She glanced down at her hand, bandaged to hide the cuts from when Roy had broken a bottle and she'd accidentally fallen on it.

"I tripped." She responded.

"Okay." He sighed and rubbed his temples. "Listen, Hawkeye, you know you can tell me if something is wrong."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Hawkeye replied coolly, and he sighed again.

"Fine. Just... If someone's hurting you, you can tell me." He refused to break eye contact.

"Yeah." She muttered, turning to leave.

"I mean it." He called after her, and she pretended not to hear.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

She and Roy were eating dinner that night, and she made the mistake of bringing it up.

"Havoc wouldn't leave me alone today." She told him, taking a sip of her water, and he put down his silverware to look at her.

"What do you mean?" He said gradually, and she should have noticed that he'd tensed.

"Nothing." She shrugged uneasily and looked down at her plate. "Nothing, he just wanted to know where I got the black eye."

"Oh" He said carefully, and she shrugged again.

"I told him I ran into a door. It wasn't a big deal."

Instantly, the table was turned over with a _crash_ and Roy was on his feet.

"Is that all that happened?" He breathed, and she shrank back in her chair.

"Yes." She nodded swiftly, looking up at him through her bangs.

"Are you _sure_?" He hissed, and she paused for a millisecond, remembering Havoc's words.

_If someone's hurting you, you can tell me._

"That's really all that happened." She said weakly, knowing he'd know she was lying. He didn't make a sound, not a single noise as he knocked her chair over, sending her sprawling onto the floor with her leg twisted painfully beneath her.

"That's _all_ that happened?" He murmured, and shebit her lip so as not to cry. He hated it when she cried. "You didn't _fuck_ him, did you?"

"No." She whimpered, and he laughed.

"No? No pretty lace panties, twisted around your ankles, his hands up your shirt-"

"Stop it!" She shrieked, covering her ears and beginning to sob. "Please, just stop. Nothing happened, I promise-"

She looked up at him as he fell to his knees beside her, shaking.

"Hawkeye, leave." He said hoarsely, jerking away from her touch. "Just go, don't ever come back, don't ever see me again-"

She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and kissed the back of his neck, but that only seemed to make it worse.

"No, please, _don't_-" He begged, scrambling away from her. "Please don't do this, just stay away from me, I can't do this to you anymore-"

"Shh... It's alright, it's not your fault, I'm fine-" She soothed, and he began to laugh hysterically.

"Not my fault-" He choked out, tears running down his face. "-you're _fine_-"

"I love you." She told him softly, and he clung to her and sobbed.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

In the end, it had been Gracia. She'd randomly picked Hawkeye up from work one Monday and insisted that she eat dinner with her and Elysia.

"No, I can't-" Hawkeye had told her as Gracia dragged her toward the car. "Roy's expecting me at home, please-"

"He'll be fine on his own for one night." Gracia said sternly, and Hawkeye began to tremble.

"No, please-" She begged, but Gracia's mouth was a thin line, and she shoved Hawkeye into the passenger seat without another word.

"You're eating with us." She told Hawkeye, not once looking her in the eye.

But when they got to the house, there was no Elysia and there was no dinner. Instead, Gracia led Hawkeye into the bedroom and locked the door.

"Hawkeye," She said, perching herself in a wicker chair. "Take off your clothes."

"What?" Hawkeye blanched at her, and Gracia looked at her sadly,

"Take off your clothes, Riza." She said, and Hawkeye shook her head.

"No thank you, it's chilly in here." She mumbled.

"It's warm in here. You think I don't know what's going on? Take off your clothes."

"No. I'm fine." She said stiffly, and Gracia grimaced.

"He needs help, Hawkeye." She said softly, and Hawkeye bit her lip.

"He's fine. He just gets angry sometimes, it's not his fault."

"Take off your clothes."

"No."

"He's _sick_, Riza! You know that! You can't help him, stop trying!"

"Stop it." Hawkeye whispered, turning away from Gracia.

"Take off your clothes."

"No."

"This isn't your fault, this has nothing to do with you."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Hawkeye, you're a _victim_, alright? You did _nothing_ wrong!" Gracia raised her voice.

"Stop it."

"This is _not_ your fault, this is _his_ fault!" She continued, and Hawkeye whipped around to face her.

"Stop it!" She shrieked, a lone tear dripping down her cheek.

"Take off your clothes, sweetie." Gracia said gently. "It's alright."

"Please, don't do this." Hawkeye whispered, another tear following the first.

"It's alright. I'm here for you." Gracia soothed. "You just have to do one thing for me. You've got to take off your clothes."

"I can't..." Hawkeye whimpered, shaking her head.

"Yes, you can." Gracia voice was stronger now. "I know you, Riza Hawkeye, and you're strong enough for this."

"Please, I-"

"Do it."

Hawkeye hiccuped, and undid the buttons on her jacket.

"That's it, easy now." Gracia whispered. "You can do this."

She slid the jacket off her shoulders, and heard Gracia gasp at the cuts and bruises that worked their way up her arms. Hawkeye stopped.

"Shh, sweetie. Keep going." Gracia's voice broke but her gaze was level, and Hawkeye took a deep breath and removed her shirt. Gracia didn't gasp this time, but she froze.

"Just your pants, darling. That's all that's left." Gracia's voice was hoarse. Hawkeye's hands were shaking too badly to undo the buttons, so she simply tugged her pants off her hips and stepped out of them. She'd lost so much weight that they were several sizes too big now, anyways. Hawkeye closed her eyes. This was all her fault, she should have been more careful, she should have hidden it better. She turned to face Gracia to see the other woman crying.

"Oh God." Gracia's voice was a choked whisper. "Oh my God, Hawkeye. What has he done to you?"

Hawkeye fell forward into her arms and began to sob.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

It all comes to an end on a Wednesday night. Gracia had refused to let Hawkeye go home that night, and every night that week. Elysia asks no questions, only looked up at Hawkeye with large, frightened eyes, and Hawkeye wonders what Gracia had told her. That night, Gracia had needed to go grocery shopping, and she'd left Elysia home with Hawkeye. She was reading Elysia a story when the doorbell rang. She peeres through the peephole to see Havoc standing on the doorstep.

"Elysia, go to your room. I'll be in in a minute." She instructs the child, and Elysia nods solemnly and darts off down the hall,

"Havoc," She goes to open the door. "Come in."

He steps inside quickly, with barely a nod in her direction. She leads him into the living room and gestures toward the couch, but instead Havoc begins to pace nervously across the carpet.

"Hawkeye." He sighes, and his eyes saddened as he takes in her appearance. Bruises snake their way up her arms and around her neck, and she has a large gash from her left cheek to the right of her jaw.

"I'm so sorry, Hawkeye." She shrugs.

"You tried." She says, putting a hand on his arm. "You tried to help."

Havoc looks up at her tiredly, and shakes his head.

"Yeah, but I could have tried harder, and now... Dammit, Hawkeye, I don't know how to tell you this."

Hawkeye looks at him in worry, a kernel of panic sprouts in her gut.

"What?" She asks with false calm, and Havoc gives her a strange look.

"Don't do that, pretend you're okay when you're not. It stopped working a long time ago."

Hawkeye opens her mouth then closes it, and takes a step back.

"Havoc." She says, her voice shaky. "Havoc, tell me what's wrong."

"I-" He stops and rubs his forehead.

"Havoc!" She yells, her voice shrill. "Havoc, what the hell is it?!"

"It's Roy." He says softly, not meeting her eyes. Hawkeye feels her stomach drop and her mouth is suddenly dry with dread.

"What about him?" She whispers, taking another step backwards.

"He hadn't come in to work for the past few days, and so I went by his place, and..." Havoc looks up at her and a tear trickles down his face. Hawkeye stops breathing.

"Hawkeye, he shot himself on Monday." He whispers. Hawkeye falls to her knees.

"There was a note, just one sentence. He said he was sorry."

"Sorry?" She repeats. "He's sorry?"

Hawkeye begins to laugh.


End file.
